


Lasting Satisfaction

by D20Owlbear



Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: "That's all?" "That's all.", A hopeless romantic, Alternate Universe - Priests, Crowley's heart melts and it's all very terrible, Gen, M/M, Martha 100 percent thinks they're dating and 500 percent approves, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priest Crowley (Good Omens), Priests AU, Very domestic, What's this? Affection? Do it again, gayforgoodomens' priests au, or outdoor market whatever you want to call it, the simple things in life, they go to a farmer's market, unbetaed we burn like the bentley, very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: “The simple pleasures of life give us lasting satisfaction.” ― Avijeet DasAziraphale wakes up Crowley on a morning off and they both go to a market. Crowley is smitten, as one does.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Love and Joy and Happiness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938955
Comments: 29
Kudos: 101
Collections: Clerical Omens





	Lasting Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to gayforgoodomens for their [Priests AU](https://gayforgoodomens.tumblr.com/tagged/priests-au/chrono) (please go check it out!) and this sandbox I'm enjoying so much writing in. 
> 
> And also to Glissando365 for this prompt! I didn't quite hit all of it, but I'm happy with how it came out.  
> "I kind of wonder how a day out together would look for them pre-confession. Would they be hyper-aware of their roles? Would they be oblivious as to how they present to everyone else?"

"Crowley!" A loud, too-cheery voice called from the foot of his bed, and yanked open the heavy curtains to let in bright light from the early morning sun. Crowley groaned and rolled over in the small bed, his arm flopping to hang over the edge, and shoved his face into the pillow.

"No! I won't do it," Crowley groaned into his pillow, and suppressed the instinctive, crude hand sign he wanted to throw at Aziraphale's resounding laugh. Who the bloody fuck let this man up in the mornings? It wasn't fair to the rest of the world, really.

"You said you would, dear boy!" Aziraphale chirruped and even went so far as to hum to himself! And Crowley couldn't help but laugh to himself at the utter _ridiculousness_ of it all. Sometimes, when he'd had a full meal and woke up in the morning under warm covers without much of a care in the world, Crowley wondered just what he'd done to deserve this. Probably nothing, if he were honest.

His being here was, quite literally, by the grace of God, and with a bit of help from what was surely a real, actual angel who had saved him from perdition. With an exaggerated huff, Crowley pushed himself up from his bed and slung his feet to the cold, stone floor, managing to miss the small bit of rug that ran under the bed just like he always did, and looked up at Aziraphale. The bastard just grinned happily at him and handed over a cup of steaming coffee, black as night and sweet as sin, just like Crowley liked it. Though he liked the memory of delightedly scandalized look Aziraphale had given him every time he'd heard Crowley say that just as much, if not more, than the actual coffee.

"Mhmm fine," Crowley let his face grow slack as he absorbed the warmth of the cup in his hands and didn't discourage the smile growing on his lips at the lightest brush of fingers pushing his messy, bed-head hair back from his forehead. "Market day it is."

"Oh goody!" Aziraphale said softly, his utter joy at the prospect of a farmer's market in a town over bleeding through his voice, leaving it soft and warm and everything Crowley had ever wanted to curl up and sleep in. Aziraphale shooed himself out of Crowley's room with a self-satisfied smile and left Crowley to get dressed.

They wouldn't be on the clock per sé, but Crowley only really owned black and had a tendency to take the tab collar that fit underneath his shirt along with him in case he'd ever felt the need to be available to someone possibly needing guidance or help otherwise. It certainly didn't hurt that nearly all his clothes had been purchased for him by the church at the start and he'd… simply never bought anything more casual.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was always also Father Fell, and Crowley just about exhausted himself even thinking about how open and available the man made himself. In part that's why he brought the collar with him these days, Crowley mused to himself as he drank the last of his coffee and slipped into walking loafers with haphazardly polished buckles and with scale-print insoles that always made Crowley snort a chuckle as he put them on. After the tenth time he'd seen Aziraphale come home from a day of work, stress, overwork, scraped clean and hollow of his empathy and sympathy, all made into physical exhaustion well… it wasn't a hard decision to make to take some of that burden.

He shuffled out and grabbed a dove grey cardigan to throw on that may or may not have been uh… _liberated_ from the laundry (on accident, of course) and met Aziraphale in the kitchen by the back door. Crowley hadn't started out like Aziraphale, it was easy to tell. The man was just… so good, even when he was a bit of a bastard about it, he'd never had a single mean bone in his body and let so many people take and take and take from him without stopping to tell them he needed anything for himself.

So, that's what Crowley was here for.

All bundled up with a light scarf and a near-identical cardigan to Crowley's, Aziraphale held a wicker basket in his arms with a few extra cloth bags in it, just in case, and looked like an odd mixture of librarian and clergy and a younger, beardless version of Santa Claus. A jolly, happy, man with nary a care in the world; and Crowley felt a little like his chest was melting into goop right between his lungs. Terrible, he loved it.

"C'mon, oh angel, time to go bless the masses with your presence." Crowley bowed dramatically and opened the door to the gravel out back where he'd parked his Bentley, the only real possession he'd come to the parsonage with.

"Oh hush you wicked man, you know very well I'm not an angel." Aziraphale giggled anyway and smiled at Crowley for the old, teasing argument, well worn and comfortable. His heart melted again, honestly it was rather inconvenient to have it do that every time Aziraphale smiled, but he'd persevere.

The drive to the local open-air market was relaxing enough, the curving country roads were always fun to drive on, and especially with how Aziraphale sometimes clutched at his shoulder when he took a turn just a hair too sharp. He'd never heard _'speed demon'_ said with such unwilling affection before he'd met Aziraphale.

They parked and strolled down the road with all the stalls set up and selling produce and early autumn harvests of various natures. Aziraphale rushed off in delight and greeted the first stall-owner by name, just like he would all of the others, and sampled anything they had out for sampling. Crowley held the money —he'd noticed early on that Aziraphale was the sort to forget his head if it wasn't attached, and often left his own wallet at home or in the Bentley or even in the freezer one time— so, Aziraphale picked things out to cook with or to store in the fridge for a later dinner or to snack on as they walked, and Crowley followed dutifully behind with their combined wallets for the day. He didn't talk to the vendors as enthusiastically as Aziraphale did, likely no one else could really manage that sort of enthusiasm for people at large, but he exchanged knowing smiles with them and followed in the wake of Aziraphale's steps, just as happy to _be_ and _exist_ in his orbit.

"You know, Mr. Crowley?" An older woman named Martha said softly, watching Aziraphale flutter off to another stall with some freshly purchased preserves.

"Know what?" Crowley asked, just as quiet. Martha was Anglican and therefore didn't attend their services, but Crowley liked to think that didn't much matter when it came to being responsible for people in their parish, not with things that really mattered like the day-to-day. And anyway, he liked her, she was older than the hills, she'd say, made some of the best jam he'd had, and always had a wise word to impart.

"You're awfully good for him," She replied, looking very pleased with herself. Crowley opened his mouth to say something, what he didn't know, but nothing came out. Martha only grinned.

"He's a good man, and I'm glad he's got someone to take care of him like you." She continued, as if the rug weren't pulled out from underneath Crowley and he wasn't struggling to parse it all in a way that made sense.

"I– I mean," Crowley stuttered, "I dunno if I'm all that– 'm pretty sure he's an angel incarnate, doesn't need some wash-up like me, yanno?"

"No." Martha replied simply, good humor still obvious on her face, "I do know, Mr. Crowley, more than you I think. Whatever you've got on in your head saying you're not good for him, well that's rubbish." She nodded over his shoulder towards where Aziraphale had wandered and patted his arm gently.

"You're a good man, Mr. Crowley. Doesn't much matter what you used to be if that's your hang up, you're a good man now and the now's what matters. That's all."

"That's all?" Crowley said, voice strained, and he turned to look for a head of fluffy, blond hair.

"That's all." Martha nodded. "Now go catch up to your man, he's liable to get lost like that."

"I– we're not–" Crowley gut himself off with a gurgle in the back of his throat, already walking sideways like a bipedal crab towards the stall Aziraphale had stopped at. His cheeks were on fire and he shoved his hands into the cardigan.

They had a vow of chastity, priests didn't get that sort of thing. And certainly not with each other.

He ignored how his chest melted with Aziraphale spun around and grabbed him by the wrist to pull him closer as soon as he noticed Crowley had caught up again.

"Oh my dear, look! They've baklava, you _must_ try some!" The wide, care-free smile was going to be the death of him someday. But Crowley wasn't sure he minded, not as long as Aziraphale stayed this happy forever.


End file.
